


What They Seem

by prettybirdy979



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and Sherlock are brothers but there's something a bit not right with Martin...</p><p>A series of ficlets (not in order and not always in the same timeline) based around a de-aged Martin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transformation

**Author's Note:**

> It was crack to begin with, then it got cute and I had no chance. Still writing Burning Hearts just...also this.

John walked into the flat and stopped, blinking in confusion at the scene before him. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, a small ginger child curled up and sleeping in his lap.

“Sherlock, why-” He started to say.

Sherlock raised a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t wake him.” John continued to gape and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He gently stood up, turned around and placed the child in his seat. He then strolled into the kitchen, John following him.

 “Whose child is that, Sherlock? Where did you get it?” John demanded.

“Sherringford Holmes and Martha Crieff’s. I didn’t get it, he came here and well…” he gestured at the milk container John knew had been marked as off limits for drinking. “he confused that with the milk.”

“Crieff…wait Holmes and Crieff… Is that Martin?” John yelled.

“Shh! It took me forever to get him to sleep.” Sherlock demanded anxiously. “He recognises me but he was very scared.”

“I don’t blame him. You transformed your brother into a five year old. How did you transform your brother into a five year old?”

“Six year old. And, I’m not a hundred percent sure. At least he’s past the wanting to be an aeroplane stage. That was annoy-”

“Sherlock?” A small voice called from the living room and Sherlock just left, almost as if John wasn’t there anymore.

John peaked out at the brothers and smiled as Sherlock pulled little Martin into a hug. He fished for his photo and snapped a photo. Then three more, before deciding to go upstairs for his actual camera.

Every minute of this was going to be documented.  


	2. Thousand

“One one thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand. Four thousand. Five thousand. Six thousand. Seven thousand. Eight thousand. Nine thousand. Ten thousand. Ready or not, here I come.”

John covered his mouth in an attempt to not giggle at the sight of his serious flatmate playing hide and go seek. A high giggle from behind his chair told him he wasn’t the only one amused.

Sherlock smirked at John. “Now, I wonder where I should start looking. Well, I can deduce Martin isn’t in sight and he’s not one to break the rules so he’s in this room.” He ran his eyes over the room. “So, logically, he is behind- JOHN!” 

Sherlock launched himself across the room and his, temporarily, six year old brother tried to scramble out of the way. Sherlock’s longer legs, however, meant he was able to catch Martin before he made it far and pull him into his arms.

However the sudden movement over balanced him and he fell backwards, landing with a surprised huff. John rose slightly to see if Sherlock was okay but began to laugh at the look of complete surprise on Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he whispered something in Martin’s ear. Martin giggled.

“Charge!” Sherlock cried and John’s eyes widened as Martin jumped onto his lap. Martin ran his fingers over John and John figured out he was trying to tickle him. He began to pretend to laugh and flinch.

“Stop! Stop!” John cried, his cries becoming real when a pair of adult hands joined in.

“This is what you get for laughing at me.” A voice whispered in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the first two tonight. I'll put the rest up tomorrow...


	3. Molly

“Ah, Sherlock… what is that?” Molly stuttered as she walked into her morgue. She wasn’t surprised to see Sherlock (Mike had warned her he was around) but the small, curly haired child perched at her desk was a bit unusual. He met her eyes and blushed a shade of red that clashed with his hair and ducked his head.

Sherlock looked up from the body he was examining an glanced around in confusion. Molly pointed at the boy and he grimaced.  

“That is a child Molly. I thought your intelligence would allow you to identify that much.” He snapped as the boy scrambled off the desk to hide behind him.

“But… why is he here?” Molly said weakly. The boy peered out from behind Sherlock’s legs to look at her and blushed again when he realised she had seen him.

“I needed to double check Mr Morgan. I am told leaving a child alone is not good so I brought Martin.”

Molly blinked. “Martin. Like your brother Martin?” 

“My brother is thirty three years old.” Sherlock said. “Martin here is six. He’s my cousin.”

Molly decided that it might be best to leave explaining why children in morgues is bad to John and bent down to Martin’s level. “Are you alright?”

Martin nodded with wide eyes. “You’re pretty. Like a plane!”

Molly giggled. “Oh. Thank you.” she stood up. “Sherlock? Do you want me to take Martin-“

“No, I’m fine. Come on.” He pulled off his rubber gloves and picked Martin up. Martin kept his eyes on Molly as they walked out.

******** 

“Molly? Really Martin?” Sherlock muttered to his brother.

“She’s pretty.” Martin said as he pulled at Sherlock’s curls. “And she sounds pretty too.”

Sherlock made a mental note to introduce the pair when Martin was correctly aged.


	4. Baby Sitting

There was a loud crash from the living room. A moment of stunned silence and then the sounds of a child sniffing, trying to hold in tears.

Sherlock was out of the kitchen and into the living room in moments. Earlier, he had given Martin a book on aeroplanes and moved into the kitchen to work on some of his experiments. He had spared a thought to what John would have thought of leaving Martin unsupervised but if that had really mattered to John he would have stayed home.

Sherlock froze at the sight before him. It seemed Martin had gotten bored and and tried to put into practice some of the things mentioned in the book. In the process he had managed to knock the T.V over and was now sitting beside it, trying not to cry. 

Sherlock found himself calculating how close Martin had come to being under the falling T.V and  _what if he had been hurt, he was that close, oh hell._

“What were you thinking?” Sherlock roared, fear feeding his anger. Martin began to sob, terrified at Sherlock’s yelling and the probability of him getting into trouble.

“Don’t cry! Explain!” Sherlock said, falling to his knees to grab Martin’s face and make him meet Sherlock’s eyes.

A flash of red caught his eyes and Sherlock grabbed for Martin’s hand. There was a small cut there and Sherlock suddenly began to spot the other bits of red that showed Martin had not escaped as unharmed as previously thought. His anger fled from him, leaving only fear and guilt. 

 _How did I miss that?_  Sherlock thought as he pulled Martin into a hug.

“Don’t scare me like that.” He whispered into Martin’s ear. “Come on,” he moved his head away but kept his arms around Martin, “I’ll have a look at those.”

Martin looked at Sherlock with wary eyes. Sherlock offered him a small smile.

“Adults yell at children when they are scared. It is a trait I have observed in others but never experienced myself.” Sherlock explained. 

Martin thought over this for a moment. “That’s silly.” He said in a hiccuping voice.

“Very.” Sherlock agreed. “Now lets go into the kitchen and wait. When John gets home we’ll get to see a even better explosion. And he’ll use naughty words and you can tell him off.” He added in a conspiring voice.

Martin giggled.


	5. Oh Dear

Martin wasn’t sure what had happened. Sherlock had been showing him how planes stay up, using paper models that didn’t seem to fly as far he wanted them to. Martin was sure Sherlock hadn’t been as big the last time Martin had visited but he was being so nice now and there had been no sign of Mycroft or Mrs Holmes. Only Sherlock’s really nice friend John who had given Martin a lollypop when he bandaged his cuts.

There had been a knock on the door and for some reason Sherlock had made Martin go sit on his bed and not say anything or come out until Sherlock came in. Martin had dived under the bed when the yelling had started in the other room.

Only now there hadn’t been any yelling for ages and there had been a loud smash and Martin was really scared and he wanted Sherlock and he didn’t care if he got in trouble. Martin screwed up his courage and crawled out from under the bed. 

He went up on tip-toe and began to creep towards the bedroom door. Images of spies in his head, Martin pushed the door open and moved into the living room.

All stealth disappeared from his movements as Martin saw Sherlock lying on the floor. He wasn’t moving.

“Sherlock!” Martin cried. He knelt beside his brother and began to shake him. “Sherlock, what’s wrong? Sherlock wake up.” 

Martin began to cry. ”Sherlock? I know I was bad, I should have stayed there. But wake up please. Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. I’ll be good forever if you don’t be dead.”

“Sherlock?” John’s voice sounded from the hallway and Martin looked up in time to see him walk in. “What’s up with Martin, I can hear- Sherlock!”

John dropped the bags he was carrying and dropped to his knees beside Sherlock.

“Is he dead?” Martin asked.

John met his eyes. “No. He’s just unconscious.” When Martin blinked in confusion, John added, “That means he’s going to be alright.”


	6. Crime Scenes

“This isn’t a good idea Sherlock.” John said glancing down at Martin.

“Why not? He wants to come.” Sherlock tightened his grip on his brother’s hand, carefully making sure he kept his strides equal with Martin’s smaller ones.

“He’s six. You don’t always give six year olds what they want.”

“Technically, he’s thirty three.” Sherlock retorted.

“Who is currently acting like he is six. Sherlock, come on. I’ll watch him while you go do your thing.” They were fast approaching the crime scene tape and John made one last attempt to stop Sherlock’s plans.

“Unacceptable. I refuse to let the pair of you out of my sight.” Sherlock said, glaring at John for the mere suggestion.

John shivered at the reference and sighed. “Fine. But you’re explaining to Lestrade.

********

“What is that?” Lestrade demanded as soon as Sherlock and Martin ducked under the tape.

“Honestly, you and Molly need to share notes. This is a child, Lestrade. I believe you are acquainted with such things.”

“I get that.” Lestrade grumbled. “What is it doing on my crime scene?”

“Sherlock said I was allowed to come look.” Martin said. “I’m sorry if I’m being bad.”

“I like him.” Lestrade smiled.

“Don’t be ridiculous Martin, you’re not being bad. Lestrade, Martin stays with me. Which means I only look at your crime scene if Martin comes with me.” Sherlock said in a hard tone.

Lestrade sighed. “I’m sorry Sherlock, but I can’t allow a child on a crime scene. I’m pushing it as it is to let you and John onto scenes. I can’t-“

“Sir?” Martin asked. “Is that blood?” Martin pointed to the wall behind Lestrade, where blood was slowly beginning to drip down.

“Get him out of here!” Lestrade roared, and a police officer grabbed Martin around his waist and lifted, pulling Martin’s hand from Sherlock’s.

Martin began to scream. Sherlock reacted on instinct, lunging at the police officer holding his wriggling brother. Martin chose that moment to dig his teeth into the hand of the man holding him. The officer promptly dropped Martin.

Sherlock caught his brother, managing to break his fall. He pulled Martin close to his chest and whispered reassurances into his ear.

John grabbed Sherlock’s arm. “Come on, Sherlock. We’ll leave the police to it.” 

With a glare at Lestrade, Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled from the crime scene.


	7. Amusement Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All details regarding the amusement park are correct as far as I can see. I got to research it. Fun! =D

_“The fun starts at gulliversfun.com.uk!”_

“Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock!” Martin began to cry, pointing anxiously at the T.V. “Can we go there? I want to go there. Can we go there?”

Sherlock blinked in confusion. “That is the third time that ad has come on. Why do you only want to go now?”

“It has an airplane ride! Can we please?” Martin said, slipping out of John’s chair and attempting to crawl into Sherlock’s lap.

“Aeroplane, Martin.” Sherlock corrected mildly. “Not airplane.” He watched Martin’s attempts with a amused smile before finally pulling his brother into his lap.

“They have an  _aeroplane_  ride!” Martin repeated, deliberately emphasizing the self correction. 

John had been listening to the conversation and decided this was a perfect moment to cut in. 

“Just looked it up for you Sherlock. It’s only an hour away, we could make a day of it.” He offered. Martin squealed with delight looking at John as Sherlock glared at John over his head.

“We could-” Sherlock started.

Martin interrupted as he turned back to look at Sherlock with pleading eyes. “Please? Pretty please?”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine.”

Hopefully Martin would be his proper age before Sherlock actually had to make good on his promise.

(He wasn’t. Sherlock didn’t speak to John for a week)


	8. Baby Sitting Take Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting the rest of these up while I can. If there's any scene you want to see, leave a prompt in the comments!

Rumors had been flying around Scotland Yard that Sherlock had gotten himself a kid. Lestrade had been asked countless times, with varying degrees of subtlety, if the rumors were true. He had denied them all.

To have Sherlock knock on his door with the evidence he was wrong was… disconcerting and so completely Sherlock. The small ginger boy was being given a piggy-back and was holding onto Sherlock’s shoulders for dear life. 

He was also the spitting image of Sherlock, right down to the eyes.

“Sherlock…” He began.

“Can I come in?” Sherlock demanded. Surprised at the note of fear in his voice, Lestrade stood aside and Sherlock breezed past.

“Before you ask, Martin isn’t mine. It’s a long story, but he-“

Lestrade cut Sherlock off. “Martin? As in your brother Martin?” A second look at the child and Lestrade could see the thirty odd year old man Sherlock had once introduced to him as his brother. in the ginger child. 

Sherlock blinked. “You’re smarter than I give you credit for.” He admitted.

Lestrade tried not to preen under the backhanded compliment.  ”Wait, really? That’s your brother?”

“It’s a long story Lestrade and not why I’m here!” Sherlock yelled. On his back Martin whimpered and held on tighter.

“Sorry.” Sherlock whispered, turning his head slightly to kiss Martin’s cheek and moving one of his hands to cover his brother’s. “Come down now.” He helped his brother down and met Lestrade’s eyes, a desperate look on his face.

Lestrade found himself moving to Sherlock’s side. “What do you need?”

“A group of men tried to kidnap Martin tonight. John and I are going to track them down but…I can not leave Martin unprotected. I know you have a gun and the skills…”

He trailed off and Lestrade finished for him in disbelief. “You want me to protect Martin?”

“Yes. You’re the only one I tr…can believe will be able to do so.” Sherlock admitted.

“Of course.” Lestrade said.

Sherlock bent down to Martin’s level. “Stay here Martin. You’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” Martin asked.

“On Planey’s life.” Sherlock said. Lestrade looked away, not wanting to witness the intimate moment between brothers.

When he looked up, Sherlock was at the door. “Take care of him.” He said and then he was gone.

Martin immediately began to cry. Lestrade carefully moved into his sight line then bent down. He pulled Martin into a slow hug, always leaving room for the boy to back out of it.

Martin just grabbed onto him. “Sherlock will be okay?” He asked and for a moment Lestrade could see something not quite childlike in his eyes.

“I hope so.” He said, knowing lying to this child would not be wise.


	9. Sherlock's Return

The shutting of his door was enough to startle Lestrade from the doze he had fallen into. Martin was asleep on his lap and Lestrade slowly pushed him onto the sofa he was sitting on and reached for the gun beside him.

“It’s safe Lestrade.” Sherlock said, slipping into the room. Lestrade sighed in relief and put the gun down.

“Will I be getting a call about a murder tomorrow?” Lestrade asked as Sherlock took a seat at the other end of the sofa, leaving Martin asleep between them.

“Only if something has gone horribly wrong.” Sherlock said.

“Sherlock…” Lestrade sighed.

“I have to keep him safe.” Sherlock said.

“You can’t do that forever.” Lestrade said sadly.

Sherlock’s eyes met his. “How did you do it?”

Lestrade huffed in laughter. “Do what? Raise kids? Let them go? Well for one, my kids are not my thirty three year old brother as a six year old. I got to learn how to parent as they grew. I didn’t suddenly have to care for a six year old for an undetermined period of time.”

“He’s not six. Mentally at least.” Sherlock corrected. “He’s… different to my memories of him then. And I don’t-” He cut himself off.

Lestrade understood. “You don’t know what to do?”

Sherlock gave a brief nod. “There’s a chance I might have to raise my brother if this is permanent. I am unprepared for such a task.”

“Most parents are.” Lestrade commented. “Just, take it one day at a time. Figure out what he needs and be that. You’re doing fine so far.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, then frowned in surprise at his question.

Lestrade laughed. “Martin adores you. He will be lucky if he is raised by you.”


	10. Fever

“Martin! Martin!” John spun around in fear, unable to see even a flash of bright red hair. Martin had been standing behind him just two seconds ago but now…

“Martin!” He called, wandering down the ends of aisles watching for his friend’s brother. People were being to stare but John didn’t care.

He got to the last aisle and felt relieved as he spotted a young woman bending down in front of a scared Martin. Martin’s eyes met his and then he dropped his head. The woman turned around and glared at John.

“Martin.” John said, moving to hug his friend. “There you are. I told you not to wander off.” John noticed how warm Martin was and he pulled back, running a critical eye over the child. Martin wriggled closer to him.

“I’m cold John.” He said. “And I’m so small. Why am I so small?”

“Are you his father? You should keep a better watch on your child! What if he had been taken by someone?”

“I would have shot them.” John said absentmindedly. “Sorry, I’ve got to get him home. He’s coming down with a flu I think.”

The woman was bemused but undeterred. “Shouldn’t you take him to a doctor not make self diagnoses.”

John snapped. “Look lady, I am a doctor. Martin just got interested in something and wandered off for a second and you do not get to lecture me when clearly your own child hates you. Now leave me alone!”

John stormed off to hail a taxi to take Martin back to Baker Street.    


	11. Letters

“There’s a knife.” Martin pointed out. 

Sherlock looked up from where he was answering his email. His currently six year old brother was staring at the mantelpiece, holding onto it and pulling himself up to be eye level with the skull. Sherlock sighed and put aside his laptop, moving to lift Martin up so he could see.

“Did the letters do something wrong?” Martin asked.

Sherlock blinked. “No. Why did you ask that?”

“You killed the letters. I thought they must have been bad.” Martin lifted a hand and ran a finger down the side of the blade, carefully not touching the sharp edge. 

“It’s for safe keeping. I know if it’s under here it was interesting enough for me to keep but dull enough to not require an answer.” Sherlock said, shifting Martin so he was holding his brother in his arms.

“Oh. Okay. Do I know that skull?” Martin asked.

“Not at the moment. You might when you’re older.” Sherlock answered. “He was a friend of ours.”

“Not a very good one?”

“A horrible one.”


	12. Simple

“And we just combine this with that, correct?” Sherlock asked.

Martin carefully reread the instructions before nodding. He was standing on a chair, the back to the bench so he could see both the book and what Sherlock was doing.

“And then you add milk, and mix really well for three minutes.” Martin read. Sherlock smiled, having already added the milk at a better time and began to stir.

“Right. Now we must consider the most important question. Are we willing to wait for these to cook, or do we just eat the dough?” Sherlock asked.

Martin was outraged. “You can’t eat the dough! You have to cook cookies!”

Sherlock nodded. “Okay. I’ll pass you each cookie and you can put them on that tray.” Carefully he and Martin made 15 little planes out of dough and Sherlock placed the tray into the oven, while noting the time.

“Now, are we allowed to eat the dough left in the bowl or is must I wash it all away?”

Martin thought about it. “That’s okay I think. We’re saving it from being wasted.”  
  
Sherlock smiled. Exactly as he remembered. This parenting thing was simple.


	13. Mycroft

Sherlock grimaced when he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. He had hoped for another week before Mycroft’s curiosity became strong enough to overpower his hatred of breaking routine. Beside Sherlock, Martin was oblivious; happily playing with the stuffed plane Sherlock had returned to him.

“Oh Sherlock. What have you done now?” Mycroft said as he walked into the flat.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Sherlock snapped, shifting to put Martin out of Mycroft’s sight line when he took a seat in John’s chair.

“I’m an uncle suddenly. I believe I should be concerned.” Mycroft retorted, taking Sherlock’s chair instead. Martin blinked and then stared in confusion at Mycroft.

“You’re not fat, My.” He said. “Did Sherlock eat all the chocolate biscuits again?”

It was Mycroft’s turn to blink and Sherlock smirked at the surprise he was barely hiding. 

“I’ve lost weight, Martin. And Sherlock has never eaten my chocolate biscuits.”

“Oops. Sorry Sherlock.” Martin said, looking down at his lap. “I didn’t mean to tell on you.”

“That is quite alright Martin. If you could go into our room, I’ll just  be there in a moment.” Sherlock said and with a small smile Martin hopped off the lounge and into the bedroom.

“How did you manage this, Sherlock?” Mycroft said. “When will it wear off?”

“I am…still determining that.” Sherlock admitted. 

Mycroft sighed. “Of course. You know I am willing to offer any aid you require.”

“I do not need your minion’s help.” Sherlock snapped.

“I meant myself.” Mycroft said, standing up. He left his umbrella on the seat and made for the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked.

“If I recall correctly I was not…the greatest brother to Martin when he was six. And he did have a fondness for aeroplanes.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, thought about what to say then closed his mouth.

“He likes piggy backs.” He finally offered. 

“Of course.” Mycroft said, heading into the bedroom.


	14. Moran's Mistake

It was supposed to have been an easy snatch. Sherlock Holmes had suddenly gained a kid and Moran had been instructed to grab him, talk to him for a while and figure out if it was worth Jim’s time.

It had taken a week, and three teams of men for Moran’s people to even be see the kid while they attempted to take him. And Moran was getting sick of his men turning up in the Thames so he took it upon himself.

Waiting until Sherlock and John had a case, Moran simply walked into 221 A, over powered Mrs Hudson (who was a surprising shot with caned goods and by far one of his toughest fights. He didn’t break any of her bones in respect of this.) and took the screaming kid with him. The boy shut up the second they got into his van. Moran was relieved.

That should have been his first hint really. 

Now, they were safely enclosed in his rooms. And the kid wouldn’t shut up. 

“Did you know how planes fly? Sherlock explained it to me. Well, he got John to look it up for him to explain to me but then he showed me with paper and it was fun then-“

“Shut up!” Moran cried. “You’re supposed to be petrified!”

“But Sherlock is coming and then you’ll be in trouble. So I thought I would be nice before then… was I not being nice? I didn’t mean to be mean-“

“Shut it!” Moran roared and the kid jumped, somehow managing to knock the painting on the wall behind him to the ground. Moran growled when the glass on it shattered.

The kid whimpered.

Moran made himself get up and leave the room. He needed a name, he needed a name, he needed to not kill the kid.

Something large fell over in the room and Moran groaned. He walked out and couldn’t contain his growl. The kid had clearly tried to escape, but having the worst luck around had tripped out and taken out Moran’s shelves.

With his collect of animal skulls. They were all in pieces around the dumbfounded kid who looked about two seconds from crying.

…Make that one.

“Damn it. Hurry the hell up, Sherlock.” Moran muttered as he picked the kid up and went to tie him to the bed where he couldn’t do any damage.

By the time Sherlock arrived, Moran was about ready to throw the kid out the window. And whoever taught him to escape knots with him.

Bet it was Sherlock. Bastard


	15. John

“Who are you?” A small voice asked, and John turned to see his flatmate’s temporarily six old year brother. Sherlock had reluctantly left the child in John’s care as he darted down to Barts to run a few small tests.

“I’m Sherlock’s friend.” He answered, bending down to so as to be at an eye level with Martin, who was sitting on the sofa.

“I know you.” Martin with certainty. 

“We’ve met before.” John said, a note of amazement in his voice. They had met a year ago when Martin was thirty odd.  _Memories must be somewhat intact…_

“You’re a…doctor?” Martin asked and John nodded.

“I’m also a soldier.”

“Wow!” Martin said, eyes wide. “Did you get to fly in a bomber? I like them. But they’re not as nice as my Lockheed McDonnell model.” He looked up at John, having barely breathed while speaking.

John laughed. “I was a doctor there. I didn’t get to fly in a bomber. They’re a little bit old for me.” Martin seemed to deflate. “But do you like models?”

Martin nodded.

“Well then. There’s some toothpicks in our cupboard, and Sherlock hides his glue under the sink. Want to try to make some aeroplanes?”

Sherlock came home to find his kitchen table covered in misshapen aeroplanes and glue; and his sleeping flatmate doubling as a pillow for his very little brother.

On the mantlepiece there was a small toothpick aeroplane; “Sherlock” written on it’s side in John’s careful handwriting.


	16. And After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is set after Martin is re-aged, I'm perfectly happy to continue with the little scenes. Please give me prompts?

“Feeling better?” Sherlock asked his sleepy brother.

Martin groaned at him. “That has to be the worst… however long it was in my life.”

“You don’t remember how long it was?” Sherlock asked.

“I was six! It feels like… I was six. All the days are bleeding together and-” Martin cut off to groan again.

“Well, when you’re feeling better let me know.” Sherlock said, collapsing into his chair. 

“Why?” Martin asked, wary.

“Experiment at the morgue. Need a helping hand and John has work.”

Martin groaned again. “Anything for you, but really?”

******** 

Sherlock timed their entrance perfectly. Molly was just finishing her lunch break so they could enter the morgue unobserved but she would be back before he had to find much for Martin to do in order to validate his excuse.

“Oh. Hello.” Both men turned as Molly entered the room. She did a double take at Martin.

“Molly, this is my brother Martin. Martin, this is Molly.” Sherlock said.

“I’m, ah, pleased to meet you.” Martin said, not taking his eyes off her.

“Likewise.” Molly said, offering her hand. It took Martin a moment to realise what she wanted. He jumped and then shook her hand, causing her to giggle.

Sherlock smiled. There. That should keep them both happy.


	17. Mycroft v Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For wellingtonboots

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demands.

Mycroft barely glances up from where he and Martin are sitting, working on a maths problem in an exercise book. 

"I'm aiding Martin's development."

"He's six! And already developed!" Sherlock argues.

"No harm in further improvement. And Martin is having fun, aren't you?"

Martin nods. "There's all these aeroplanes and My is helping me make there be more of them."

Sherlock gives Mycroft a questioning glance and Mycroft mouths "Multiplication" at him.

"Well time for lunch." Sherlock decides. Martin drops his pencil at that.

"Lunch is at one o'clock." Mycroft argues.

"Lunch is whenever I decide it is lunch. In fact, I decide it is afternoon tea time now."

Martin laughs at his brothers. "I decide it breakfast! Sherlock, can we have pancakes?"

"Of course." Mycroft says. "I'll make them."

" _I'll_ make them." Sherlock said, pushing past his brother. "Yours are always lumpy."

"You don't even know how to make pancakes." Mycroft retorts. 

Martin giggles.


End file.
